


Text It

by CrimeAlley1048



Category: Batfamily - Fandom, Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics), Grayson (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 22:24:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4197219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimeAlley1048/pseuds/CrimeAlley1048
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story based around group texting-- just a normal night in Gotham.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Best Laid Plans

Tuesday, 11:49 P.M.  
Damian swung his legs in the empty space below him, running his fingers across the edge of the roof. He’d been there for a while now— his father was arguing ethics with the commissioner again. Since that was nothing new, Damian had zoned out after the first ten minutes. He had bigger things to think about.  
Like his plans for tonight. The words “I need a favor” didn’t come out of Drake’s mouth very often, Damian had noticed, so he was taking the request very seriously. He had everything worked out, all the way down to a third backup plan. It was going to be fine.  
Behind him, the grownups were still going strong— it was time to move. Damian pulled out his phone and began scrolling through his messages, searching for a group he hadn’t used in months: “Bat Brethren.” Obviously, the name had been Grayson’s idea— he’d created the group as a way for the four of them to talk around Bruce. It wasn’t used much, now that Grayson wasn’t around.  
Damian figured they would need it tonight. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure his father was still busy, then typed out a message.

_I can give you three hours._

After that, Drake would be on his own. It should be enough, as far as Damian could tell. Drake hadn’t been terribly specific about his mission goals. He settled back onto his roof and waited for a response.

**Jason Todd:** Three hours for…?

**Jason Todd:** What the hell is going on?

Well that was a problem. Damian frowned down at his screen— Todd was supposed to know about this. Drake’s plan wouldn’t work without him.

_Drake. Didn’t you tell him?_

**Tim Drake:** Didn’t get around to it, sorry.

**Tim Drake:** We need your help with something.

**Jason Todd:** With what

Damian looked up from his phone, temporarily distracted by the conversation behind him, which had shifted in his direction.  
“How old is he?” Commissioner Gordon demanded, then barreled on without waiting for an answer. “I don’t care how well trained he is— and incidentally, I wouldn’t mind knowing how he got like that—”  
“I told you, he’s fine.”  
“Did he or did he not literally die?”  
Damian twisted around to face the commissioner. “I’m fine.”  
“You were dead!”  
“But I’m fine now.” He rolled his eyes pointedly (You could see that from under a domino, right?) and turned back to the messages that had accumulated in his absence.

**Tim Drake:** I need some files from the JLA server, okay? It’s not something I want Bruce to know about. Damian’s going to distract him while you and I take care of it.

**Jason Todd:** Why do you need me? I’m busy.

**Tim Drake:** I need a ride.

**Jason Todd:** Seriously?

**Tim Drake:** Unless you know someone else who lives in a spaceship

**Tim Drake:** Do you want me to call you and explain?

**Jason Todd:** Don’t bother. I’m not doing it.

**Tim Drake:** Why??

**Jason Todd:** I told you, I’m busy.

Wonderful. If Todd wasn’t on board, that would make the hour Damian spent recording sound bytes (plan A) completely useless. He could have been asleep. And plan D was literally lighting the kitchen on fire— didn’t Todd know how much effort he’d put into this? Damian huffed in annoyance and typed:

_Busy polishing your firearms?_

**Jason Todd:** Busy.

_I’m working in a limited window of time here, Todd. You both need to leave NOW._

**Jason Todd:** I told you I’m not going. Kori’s got a thing, we need the ship, the answer is no.

So was the plan off? Damian needed to know in the next sixty seconds— Commissioner Gordon was losing patience. If they didn’t have an answer by the time he finished storming back inside—

**Tim Drake:** Come ON, Jay. It won’t take long.

**Jason Todd:** Stop texting me.

**Tim Drake:** I really need those files, okay? It’s important.

**Jason Todd:** Stop texting me, or you’ll regret it.

**Tim Drake:** Please?

**Jason Todd:** That’s it

Damian clicked off his screen and set it in his lap. What a waste of time. Commissioner Gordon was gone now— Batman was standing by himself, looking steamed. There was nothing else he could do— might as well prepare for the rest of patrol.  
But then his phone flickered on again, precisely accompanied by a soft ding behind him. Damian glanced down in horror.

Jason Todd added Bruce Wayne to the group

Oh no.  
Damian turned around slowly, just in time to see the bemused expression on his father’s face turn cold as he scrolled through the messages.  
“Robin?”  
“Um…”  
Damian searched for an explanation as their phones went off one more time—

**Tim Drake:** Bruh


	2. Humor

Wednesday, 1:13 A.M.  
Okay, so the spaceship thing was a bust. It was back to the drawing board, Tim figured, but that was fine. He’d think of something else. He always did.  
And clearly, that something else would not involve Jason Todd, who was a jackass. Seriously, what a jerk. At least Bruce hadn’t been too bad— he hadn’t even yelled at them. Maybe he’d finally resigned himself to his children’s shenanigans, or maybe he was just biding his time. You could never tell with Batman.  
Maybe he was going to cut the tech budget again. Tim hoped he wouldn’t— the last time that happened, he’d had to shut down half his projects. He could probably keep going with a cut below three percent, but anything else? That could get rough.  
Tim was concerned— so concerned that he tripped on the lip of the roof. He toppled off the edge, bouncing off the brickwork a couple of times before he got his wings open. After that he was fine, maybe a few bruises, but that was it. The important thing was that nobody had seen.  
At least, that’s what he thought until his phone started buzzing.

**Damian Wayne:** Drake just fell off a building. Pass it on.

Damn. Tim scanned the air until he found him, standing on a rooftop three apartments over. Damian gave him a little wave.

_Excuse you, that was 100% on purpose. I was testing a new set of glider wings._

**Damian Wayne:** Uh huh.

Tim could see Damian’s smirk in the glow from his phone. Yeah, there was probably no getting out of this one. He hadn’t exactly fallen gracefully, which meant he was going to be hearing about this for a while.

**Bruce Wayne:** Did they work?

Well, God bless Bruce for trying, but there wasn’t much he could do to help at this point. Best thing to do was end the conversation quickly, minimize the damage.

_Well I’m not dead yet so_

And that ought to do it. He should probably head back to the roofs now. Tim pulled out his grapple gun, ready to move, but his phone lit up again— God, Damian, just let it go. That kid was asking to get hit in the head with a iron hook. Maybe he should go for it. Damian had settled cross-legged on top of the apartments, so he was definitely in range. Tim glanced down at his screen.

**Jason Todd:** There’s no need to rub it in.

Wait, what?  
Wow? Okay, wow.  
Tim turned back to Damian, whose eyebrows had shot so far up his forehead that they looked like they were trying to swing off without him.

**Damian Wayne:** …

Yeah, same. Tim contemplated his screen for a few seconds before he gave up.

_I don’t really know how to respond to that._

**Jason Todd:** What??

**Bruce Wayne:** Please don’t do that….

Jason must be in a really good mood tonight, Tim figured, or maybe a really bad one. It usually amounted to pretty much the same thing. Tim could just picture him, sitting smugly in the spaceship that Tim couldn’t borrow, rubbing his hands together. “How can I antagonize them tonight? Ah, yes— bad resurrection jokes. That should do it.”

**Jason Todd:** Humor is all I have.


	3. Consequence

Wednesday, 3:53 A.M.  
Jason sank back onto his couch, smiling to himself. It had been a good night: zero injuries, two successful missions, and of course, the opportunity to mess with his family. That always made him feel better. Not for any particular reason, if he was honest— he just really, really felt good about ruining their night.  
But he was probably going to have to avoid Tim for the next few days. There would be some kind of revenge attempt, he could feel it, and he wasn’t falling for that. Not this time.  
Right on cue, his phone went off again— Jason slid his feet off the coffee table and sighed, digging into his bag. What was it this time?

 **Tim Drake:** Does anybody want to get lunch on Friday?

And there it was— an innocent question that probably masked a truly fiendish plan of attack. Well nice try, Drake. It wasn’t going to work. Jason unlocked his phone.

_No._

**Damian Wayne:** Hell no.

 **Bruce Wayne:** Be polite.

 **Tim Drake:** Does that mean you’re coming?

 **Bruce Wayne:** Um… You know I wish I could, but I’m pretty busy…

Jason smirked down at his screen. How very typical— he almost felt bad for Tim. Not bad enough to stop needling him, of course, but pretty close.

_So on a scale of 1-10, how surprising would you rate that answer? I’m gonna go with a negative two. Damian?_

**Damian Wayne:** Don’t pull me into this

_Hey, you texted me first. Speaking of that, which files were we trying to steal? I don’t think you ever said._

**Tim Drake:** So help me I will literally come over there and slap your undead soul straight from your body

 **Bruce Wayne:** Polite??

 **Tim Drake:** Sorry.

 **Bruce Wayne:** But while we’re on the subject

Ooh, here it came. Jason grinned at his phone, waiting for the boot to come down. What would it be?

 **Bruce Wayne:** We need to talk about what happened tonight. I expect you all for breakfast at six.

Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Jason flipped through his mental book of excuses. He already told them something about a space mission, right? He could work with that.

_Can’t. Orbiting Jupiter. So, so sorry to miss it._

**Tim Drake:** You’re parked at pier four

Damn. Jason closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. “I will not murder Tim,” he whispered. “I will not murder Tim. I’m not going to do it.”

 **Bruce Wayne:**  Nice try. Six o’clock.

“Okay, that’s it. He better watch his back.”


	4. End

Wednesday, 5:46 A.M.  
Four hundred miles from Gotham City, Dick Grayson sat on his own rooftop, staring at his phone. It had been buzzing all night— that hadn’t happened in months. It was one of the downsides of faking your own death; nobody talked to you anymore.  
But if you were already part of a group message, they didn’t think to take you out. Why would they? Dick scrolled through his messages again, smiling to himself— it was good to hear from home.  
He was almost tempted to text them back. Bruce might actually murder him, sure, but the opportunity was too good to discard out of hand. He’d been gone for so long. Maybe it was time?  
But no, he decided, he couldn’t do that. They deserved more than a text— he would let them know the right way, when he finally came home. With any luck, that would be soon. And maybe they would keep using the group. That would make it easier to wait.  
The sun was coming up. Dick set his phone aside and watched the light rise above a skyline that was suspiciously smog-free. In times like this, he really did miss Gotham. It was kind of nice to live in a city that was just as much a mess as you were— it gave you a weird sense of validation.  
Dick glanced down as his phone buzzed again.

_Tim Drake sent an image to the group_

Perfect.  
When he unlocked his screen, Dick practically melted into a rooftop puddle of super-spy. It was a picture of Damian, head down on the kitchen table, clearly asleep. He had a fork clutched loosely in his limp hand—they must be at their breakfast meeting.

**Tim Drake:** Now isn’t that adorable

Dick hoped that Tim had had the sense to remove the silverware before he sent that picture. Damian didn’t really mix well with sharp objects, the word ‘adorable,’ or Tim in general. There would be hell to pay as soon as he woke up, Dick was sure of it.  
The image made him smile. He sent a silent _good luck_ in Bruce’s direction, stood up, and walked inside.


End file.
